A mother's lament

Where truthfulness earns deceit and treachery
Where love is rewarded with ridicule and mockery
Where those who matter don't bother to care
Where appreciation is scarce and rare
Where clean and decent end up tattered and torn
I wish, my son, you weren't born

Where demolished monuments and burning trains
make Gods fight for the glory that remains
Where votes aren't cast, but caste is voted
Where caste matters, feelings hardly noted
Where coloured skin often attracts a scorn
I wish, my son, you weren't born

Where every other person can be a savage
Where beasts roam freely, eager to ravage
Where dignity and decency are meaningless things
Where daughters aren't safe and rapists are kings
Where fear reigns streets from dusk till morn 
I wish, my son, you weren't born

Where trickery effortlessly succeeds
Where value of merit ever recedes
Where the honest are shot and the brave slaughtered
Where liars rule and the corrupt are flattered
Where the deserving are left forever forlorn
I wish, my son, you weren't born

2 comments :

  1. It's pretty good. Could have been better.

    Also, if you think India is the only place where such things happens, guess whaaaat? You're wrong. It's worse in _many_ other places. India, on the other hand, offers things which no other country can. Take the best, tolerate the rest.

    Hence, I wish, my son, you weren't born, if not here. :D

    Reply Delete
    1. I can see why it created the impression that it is about India. Obviously, when one talks about Ayodhya, Godhra, Delhi, caste system etc., that impression is very likely.

      But I intended the poem as some sort of "_the world_, life itself is cruel, unfair, blah blah" lament. :P

      Delete

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